


Death by Cheeto

by artificiallifecreator, chibi_nightowl, salazarastark (niewanyin), Silver_Snow_77, vellaphoria



Series: A Journey of Personal Discovery Through Social Isolation [14]
Category: DCU (Comics), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Angst and Humor, BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, BAMF Diana (Wonder Woman), Choking Hazard: Cheetos, Gen, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Lives, Multiverse Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallifecreator/pseuds/artificiallifecreator, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/salazarastark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Snow_77/pseuds/Silver_Snow_77, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellaphoria/pseuds/vellaphoria
Summary: Throughout the multiverse, there are several emotional, bizarre, and even anticlimactic ways that Jasondidn'tdie in that warehouse.Bruce shows Jason a few of them.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Joker (DCU) & Jason Todd, Miles Morales & Spider-Gang, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: A Journey of Personal Discovery Through Social Isolation [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406953
Comments: 19
Kudos: 96





	Death by Cheeto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [njw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/gifts).



> Happy (very, very, _very_ ) late birthday, njw! Thank you so much for being patient even though this is nearly a year late at this point. That said, we want you to know how much we appreciate you and everything you do for the Capes and Coffee server. We hope you enjoy the fic! <3

Jason wants nothing more than to leave. To swerve his bike into a screeching, pavement-skidding turn and speed right the hell back down the hidden passage. He knows the tunnels to take so that the underground system will spit him out in east Gotham, by the docks. It’s late enough that the city’s rougher workers will just be ending work, and the residents of the city’s seedy underbelly will be starting theirs.

Which _just_ the right combination to make east Gotham - with its steely-eyed bar patrons and dark, trash-strewn alleys - the _perfect_ place for him to be tonight. 

A drink or ten. A screaming match with the local drunks. A fight behind the bar with whatever thugs are moronic enough to challenge the _goddamn Red Hood_ tonight of all nights. 

So yeah, he’d really rather be anywhere else. But that’s not saying much when he would _literally_ rather go _mono a mano_ with a rabid Killer Croc than… this.

Jason rather do _anything else_ , but here he was, seeing Bruce. On the anniversary of his own death.

When he’d gotten the text, Jason had been ready to throw his phone out the window and run over its scraps with his bike. But then it _rang_ and it was _Alfred_ and he laid the guilt tripping on _thick_ and - 

Doesn’t mean Jason wants to be here. But here he is.

His motorcycle peels around the last corner of the tunnel, paved stone giving way to the corrugated metal of the Batcave’s lowest platform. Water rushes around and beneath him, but he doesn’t have to follow the chain of pools, platforms, and waterfalls upward to know that at the highest level - at the Batcomputer - Bruce will be waiting.

When he parks his bike across three of the designated spaces and shuts it off, its rumbling gives way to the pounding of his pulse in his ears. It’s doing that dumb thing where he can feel it in his fingertips, in his mouth. He rips the helmet off of his head, hanging it on the bike’s handlebars. His hair does what it does, and Jason doesn’t care enough to try and find a mirror. Or to risk seeing the bleached-white evidence of his dip in the League’s radioactive kiddie pool. 

With a snarl trapped in the back of his throat, Jason stomps up way too many staircases. His footsteps echo against the wall of the cave, and he can tell from the lack of other noises that no one else is here right now.

No one but him and Bruce.

By the time he reaches the top, Jason’s blood is about to boil over. It seers beneath his skin, and the sight of the high-backed chair facing away from him does nothing to help that.

“So?” Jason asks too loudly. “The fuck do you want, old man?”

“Jason…” Bruce says, trailing off into silence. His voice sounds… haggard? Maybe? But Jason doesn’t give a rat’s ass about how _he_ feels.

“Spit it out already,” Jason growls. “Alfred said it was _important_ , and the only reason why I’m here is because _he_ asked me to be. So tell me what the _hell_ it is so that we don’t have to see each other until the next time Dick decides he wants one of his fucking _family reunions_.” Jason resists the urge to spit on the ground, but just barely. 

The chair swivels to face him.

It’s Bruce, but not the Bruce Jason was expecting.

He’s not in his Batman gear for starters. Instead, he’s got on a nondescript, long-sleeve t-shirt that _still_ probably costs more than Jason’s monthly food budget. His pants are equally unremarkable. Jason can’t remember the last time he’d seen Bruce dressed so informally.

Though, if he’s honest, he usually does his best to forget he’s seen Bruce at all.

At a second glance, the dark circles under Bruce’s eyes seem darker than usual. His hair is out of sorts. There’s a crease in his shirt that would have Alfred chasing after him with an iron. 

“Jason,” Bruce tries again. He clears his throat. 

Jason glares.

“I asked Alfred to call you here because I have something to show you,” Bruce says. “Something _important._ ”

“You know,” says Jason. “Your lips are movin’ but somehow I still got _no damn idea_ what’s goin’ on.” 

Bruce sighs like he’s losing patience. 

Well, welcome to the fucking club.

“Just… just watch.” Bruce reaches to the control panel, typing a string of characters and pulling up a folder as bland as his current choice in clothing. It looks like any number of the folders on the Batcomputer that Jason has tried to get Tim to unlock for him. Without much success, Jason might add, despite tactics ranging from asking politely to offering to murder that boomerang asshole for him. 

In Jason’s opinion, that last one would have been so much more than a fair trade that it'd practically be highway robbery. But _some_ people just don’t know a good deal when it breaks into their apartment at two in the morning and throws pinecones at them until they wake up from the first nap they’ve taken in longer than is probably healthy.

… maybe that had something to do with Tim saying no.

Whatever.

Jason’s run through his monologue by the time that Bruce has pulled up a video file. He clicks past the ‘read me’ attached to it so quickly that Jason can barely make anything out but the Justice League’s symbol and the words “we’re sorry for your - “

Helpful.

“The hell is this -?” Jason starts asking.

“Just,” Bruce cuts him off. “Just watch. Please?”

Jason blinks. Stares. It’s maybe a minute before he puts an end to the showdown by crossing his arms and huffing in annoyance.

“Sure, _whatever_. Just play it already so that I can leave sooner.”

Bruce looks oddly sad at that, but he reaches for the console anyway. With another typed command, the video fills the screen and begins to play.

Jason leans back against the platform’s railing, propping a foot against the lowest bar. 

At first, the video is nothing but static. A cacophony of snow against a moonless night, hissing like Medusa's bad hair day. Slowly, the image becomes clearer. Chaotic pixels resolve themselves into lines, light, and shadow. Into the outside of a warehouse, and a bright flash of green, red, and yellow.

A flash that’s wearing those dumb scaly panties. In a warehouse set against the backdrop of a dry, barren desert.

“No,” Jason whispers, just as his on-screen counterpart creeps closer and closer to the warehouse door. To his death.

Jason wants to run. He wants to vault over the railing and never come back to this damn cave. To never have to see _him_ again.

But he can’t move. He finds himself stuck to the railing, his eyes stuck to the screen, the images playing pouring into his brain like sand pouring from a smashed hourglass as his muscles wind tighter and tighter and he can’t breathe he can’t - 

And yet, the images play on.

* * *

In the quiet solitude of his room, Alfred opened the closet door. Tucked away in a corner, behind a few bins of stage memorabilia he couldn’t quite bring himself to part with, was a long, narrow case he never thought he’d find a use for again. A remnant of an even older past where he served Queen and country, using his skills as a thespian to collect information behind the Iron Curtain.

Those days were long past, though it didn’t mean he’d forgotten. 

Carefully, he placed the case on his bed and unlatched the closures. Flipping open the lid, he gazed down at the sniper rifle he hadn’t touched in nearly three decades.

Upstairs, a young boy slept fitfully, his body forever broken from the wounds he’d suffered on his quest to find his mother. Never before had Alfred been gladder to accompany Master Bruce to find Master Jason. If he hadn’t, then the consequences—he didn’t want to think about what life would be like without Master Jason’s impish grin or gleeful laugh.

Slowly at first, but then with greater speed as his old fingers remembered the movements, he inspected each component of the weapon. On the dresser, a radio patched into the police-band and Batman’s own communicator crackled with occasional updates. The police were more active while Master Bruce was noticeably silent.

The Joker had escaped Arkham just hours earlier.

Master Jason was putting on a brave face, enough to fool Master Bruce, but not him. Alfred could see all too clearly the scared little boy who was petrified that his tormentor would find him once more and finish the job. That fiend had taken it into his head that the only good bird was a dead bird. All the reports from Arkham indicated Joker was now obsessed with Robin.

Alfred picked up the now completed rifle and settled it against his shoulder, taking aim at the mirror to test the heft.

“No more,” he murmured. “No more.”

Placing the weapon back in the case, he snapped the lid close and slung the strap across his shoulder. Radio in hand, he left his room and made his way to the kitchen. Deep in the recesses of the pantry, the one place where Master Bruce never ventured, he retrieved the well-hidden ammunition to inspect. Needing a bit more light than the room provided, he spun around with almost military precision.

Only to find Master Jason standing in the doorway, his young face haggard and white from the exertion of managing his crutches and limbs that no longer obeyed his will. His left leg in particular had a tendency to drag as he walked.

“Alfie?” he asked, keen blue eyes taking in the case and the still open container of rounds. “What’re you doing?”

There was no point in lying.

“What must be done,” Alfred replied in a firm tone. “Master Bruce has his own way of protecting you, while I have mine.”

Master Jason’s mouth rounded as he took in his meaning. “You’re going to kill the Joker.”

“If I can find him, yes.” In a rare display of emotion, he reached out and ruffled the boy’s tousled curls. Young eyes gazed up at him with unshed tears. “When I found you in that warehouse, I vowed that if his path and mine ever crossed again, it would be the last.”

“What about Bruce? He’s gonna be pissed.”

“That’s a dollar for the swear jar, Master Jason.” Alfred guided his charge out of the doorway and back into the kitchen proper. “I will deal with Master Bruce. I would much rather you not live your life in fear of the Joker. I have no doubt that one day you will be capable of defending yourself again. Until that day, allow me to do it for you.”

Tears trickled down Master Jason’s face as he embraced him the best he could with the crutches in the way. “Thank you, Alfie. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my dear boy.” Alfred’s voice cracked as he tried and failed to suppress his own feelings. “My dear, beautiful boy.”

~*~ 

From atop the haunted house in Amusement Mile, Alfred took his shot. Only one was needed and the Joker crumpled to the ground as the bullet took out the back of his skull. It was risky, but was the only clear one available. 

Shouts rang out from the Joker’s goons as they scattered in fear that they would be next.

Let them run. His job here was done.

He placed the rifle back in the case and stood on aching knees, mostly concealed from the ground below by the garish façade of the attraction below.

“What did you do?” Batman emerged from the shadows, lips pressed tight.

Alfred looked his charge square in the eyes. “Your vow does not allow you to do what needed to be done.”

“You just murdered a man in cold blood.”

“No. I just saved the life of a young boy who is trembling in his bed, afraid to sleep because his dreams are haunted by the fear that Joker will one day return to finish what he started.”

“I would never let that happen,” Bruce tried, but Alfred held up a hand, forestalling him.

“You already did.” He gestured distantly behind him where the Joker’s body graced the pavement. “I did what had to be done. What must be done. Take me in to the authorities if you will, but I do not regret my actions here tonight.”

He did not regret his actions, nor was he afraid of the consequences. Master Jason was safe and that was all that mattered. The silence between them stretched long until finally Bruce stepped aside.

With a polite nod, Alfred brushed past him and walked away.

* * *

The Joker raised his crowbar once more.

Jason flinched away, his tears mixing with the blood drying on his skin. He gritted his teeth, waiting to be struck.

… but the hit never came.

Tentatively, Jason opened his eyes, glancing up. The first thing he saw was the crowbar, inches from his face. It shook slightly, but just beyond it the Joker was all but frozen. 

Because halfway up his arm was a hand curled around his elbow, squeezing hard enough that Jason could hear bone splintering.

His eyes went wide as he turned to face his rescuer. 

“Now then,” Wonder Woman said. The warehouse light gleamed against her bracers and the metal accents of her costume. Her smile was _vicious_. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“ _What?_ ” The Joker screeched. He seemed thrown by having his plan interrupted. “Let _go_ of me, you b-”

Wonder Woman ripped his arm back, nearly tearing it from its socket before kicking the Joker square in the chest. He flew back, his head cracking against the concrete floor. Haltingly, he tried to push himself to his feet, but he seemed to be struggling.

“And _that_ is not any way to speak to a woman,” she snarled. 

He expression shifted completely as she turned to face Jason, turning somber but serious.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked, reaching forward and making quick work of his bindings. 

“Not sure.” He coughed, tasting copper. “I’ve felt better.”

She nodded, and the ropes fell to the floor.

“You have been very brave.” From anyone else, at any other time, it would have been patronizing. But it was _Wonder Woman._ And as much as he hated to think it, Jason had begun to think that he was going to die alone and forgotten in that warehouse. 

“Thank-” The words caught in his mouth. A part of Jason’s brain hissed at him that _thanking_ someone would be admitting weakness. But… no. There would be time for pride later. “Thank you for, um-”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “There is no need. This is just what we heroes do, is it not?”

 _We._ Jason felt like crying. It didn’t matter what that clown bastard said, or what his… what Sheila thought. Jason _was_ a hero. And there wasn’t anything they could do to change that.

* * *

Tim crouched down to get to eye level with Jason’s Shellder. The poor thing had been left behind. A pokemon from the bottom of Gotham Bay could technically survive the soaring temperatures, but that didn't mean that it would be particularly comfortable. 

Shellder was understandably distraught when a boy who wasn’t his trainer had walked into the bathroom. He was gearing up to use Ice Shard when the boy held up his hands, showing that he came bearing treats. Ever a Gotham pokemon, Shellder wasn’t one to turn down free food, but it also wasn’t about to let food equate to unconditional goodwill. 

“Hi, uh, Shellder. My name is Tim, and this is my buddy Zorua.”

A tuft of black and red fur on the boy’s shoulder twitched and uncurled to reveal little dark furred fox pokemon. It leapt down and gingerly sniffed at Shellder. Trailing behind the boy was a floating brown and red pokemon that Shellder had seen one or two of with Jason on the way to the motel. 

“So Zorua and I are also from Gotham, and were gonna go say hi to your trainer since I’ve seen him once or twice at school? He was with some woman who was pulling him along and Baltoy,” he gestured at the floating brown-red pokemon,” got kicked aside by the mean lady. I was getting her a potion from my bag when she tugged on my sleeve and led me here.”

Baltoy seemed to take that as a cue, and spun like a top. An image began to form in the bathwater, and Shellder, alarmed, made haste in jumping onto the edge of the tub. Zorua also jumped up, and gave a low growl.

The image was of the Joker, chuckling wildly and gesticulating wildly with a crowbar in a warehouse of partially opened shipping containers. As Gothamites, that image was terrifying enough, but what made it worse was the opened containers’ bubble wrap was clumped together into a makeshift nest. Smack in the middle of the nest was Jason Todd, bound and unconscious alongside the mean woman who had kicked Baltoy. The Joker must have received a call, because he abruptly dropped the crowbar, and dug through his pockets to retrieve a phone. He strolled out of the frame, absurdly pleased with whatever news he was receiving, because his grin was wider than usual. 

The image faltered as the water rippled, and then fell away entirely. Stunned, Tim sunk to the tiled floor and pulled his backpack over. They needed a plan, and fast. 

Thirty minutes, the entirety of Tim’s backpack being dumped onto the floor, pokemon treats, and half a sandwich later, they had a plan. 

Tim handed Shellder the Technical Machine to learn Teleport. Baltoy brought up the image of the warehouse to confirm that the Joker wasn’t present. Shellder began practicing using Teleport, bringing Sitrus Berries with him to the warehouse, working up to teleporting pokemon and people alongside him. Meanwhile, Tim biked as fast as he could to the Pokemon center to retrieve the rest of his belongings, find some Leftovers, and the Technical Machine Endure. 

Tim ran back into the room, out of breath, triumphantly holding up his prizes. Shellder popped back into the room with Zorua, also triumphant from learning to bring a pokemon alongside him. Zorua yipped hello to Tim as the two pokemon grabbed a berry each and made the last few trips to the warehouse. Finally, all the berries were gone, and Tim pulled Zorua aside for a one on one.

“I’m not going to lie about this. This is going to hurt. This is not going to be fun, it is going to hurt badly, but it is going to help buy time for Jason and that lady when Batman shows up. Do you want to do this? It’s not too late to get Shellder to just bring him back here. It’s okay if the Joker gets away; Batman will have other chances to put the Joker away.”

The little fox headbutted the hand that held the Leftovers. Baltoy twirled, bringing up an image of the nest of bubble wrap. Their determination was infectious. 

“Alright,” Tim said, exhaling deeply. “Let’s do this.”

Shellder shifted side to side, seeming unable to decide between impatience and anxiety. 

Tim felt it the moment that Shellder activated Teleport. The energy in the room warped around them, forming bright rings. The light flared, blinding him for a moment, and, when it dimmed, Tim found himself crouching on the warehouse floor, Zorua, Baltoy, and Shellder around him. 

“Okay,” Tim whispered. “Now we just need to find-”

Something behind him shifted. Tim ducked forward at the last second, narrowly avoiding the swing of his assailant’s weapon.

“Surprise!” the Joker screamed, as he swung and missed. His voice was as distinctive as it was spine chilling. “So _nice_ of you to join our little _party_ …”

Tim rolled out of the way of the second swing of the crowbar, jumping back. Even in the dim light of the warehouse, it was easy to see that it was dark with splattered blood.

 _Jason’s_ blood.

Shellder noticed it at the same time that Tim did. It screeched in anger, drawing the Joker’s attention.

“Go,” Tim whispered to Zorua. 

The little fox jumped off of its perch on his shoulder, disappearing deeper into the warehouse.

~*~ 

Jason returned to consciousness slowly. He felt groggy, and the world around him seemed like it was spinning. His eyes blinked open, vision blurry. All he could see was the same wall of the warehouse that he’d been staring at for days and- 

And a Zorua? It was more fluff than pokemon, and it sat on top of his legs, squeaking at him. 

Jason must have finally lost it. 

The Zorua jumped off of his legs, darting behind the chair that Jason was tied to. The ropes tying his arms and legs began to shift before eventually snapping.

Jason pitched forward, just barely catching himself before he could topple off of the chair. 

The Zorua headbutted his leg, looking at him with concern before running off, back towards the main room of the warehouse.

“What the…?”

Jason staggered to his feet, stumbling to a nearby crate and all but collapsing on top of it. It took more effort than it should have to push himself up. His arms shook with the effort of it. But, eventually, he managed to make it to the wall. From there, it was easier to edge his way out of the room.

Zorua stood outside of the door, jumping up to get Jason’s attention. A pokeball sat next to it. The Zorua chirped, pressing the pokeball’s button with its nose.

In a flare of light, Gengar materialized. 

Jason collapsed forward as Gengar moved to catch him. By nature, the pokemon was cold to the touch, but he didn’t care. He could feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Before they could fall, Gengar licked him straight across his face.

“Ew, buddy.” Jason made a face. “What did I tell you about licking…”

Gengar licked him again.

Resigned, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning on Gengar for support. 

The Zorua was still there. It made dramatic fox noises before spinning in a circle and running off again.

It had been helpful so far, so Jason took a chance and followed.

A minute later he found himself in the center of the warehouse, face to face with… a pokemon battle? Though battles were usually two sided.

What he saw was the goddamn Joker using that _fucking crowbar_ to fend off attacks from a Baltoy and…

Shellder!

Jason tried to rush forward, but Gengar stopped him.

Instead, the Zorua rushed forward, yapping loudly. 

A trainer that Jason hadn’t seen at first - and one who looked younger than him, strangely - stood with a Baltoy and Jason’s Shellder. At the Zorua’s approach, he looked over, seeing Jason.

“Now!” he shouted to Shellder. Almost immediately, Aurora Beam activated, sending the Joker flying back into a pile of crates.

The three of them rushed to Jason. When they were a few feet away, Shellder sent itself flying, landing in Jason’s outstretched arms.

It was the second pokemon to aggressively lick him that night, but as Jason cradled his pokemon close to his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Mercifully, the trainer gave him a moment before saying, in no uncertain terms, “We have to go.”

Jason wasn’t about to argue.

The wreckage of the crates the Joker had landed in was beginning to move, and Jason had no intention of sticking around.

At as close to breakneck speed as Jason could manage, the two of them ran out of the warehouse. It felt like an eternity before they emerged, the warehouse spitting them into the still, dark night - 

Just in time to look up and see a living shadow drop down from the hovering Batwing, crashing through one of the warehouse’s skylights.

Bruce was here. Bruce had _found him_.

At last, Jason’s legs gave out. 

Gengar and Shellder crowded him, sounding worried.

He was fine, just tired and kinda extremely injured. Still, he held them close. 

Off to the side, the trainer who helped rescue him reunited with his Zorua, looking relieved.

Jason could relate. As he heard the sounds of screaming and a very aggressive beatdown from inside the warehouse, somehow he knew that everything would be okay.

* * *

The Joker was talking, bouncing the crowbar jauntily against his palm as he loudly contemplated which of Jason’s legs he should smash first. The villain tapped his chin in hand and debated with himself if he should aim for the knee or the ankle first, which one would get a better  _ snap _ and scream from the lost little birdie.

All Jason could do was lie there and pant for breath, broken ribs aching sharply with every inhale and he waited for what the demented clown will do next. His mother, no,  _ Sheila _ was still smoking in the corner and the henchmen were watching the show eagerly, and he couldn’t even muster the energy to spit or swear at them.

Jason wished Bruce would hurry. He wanted his dad. He wanted to wake up in their hotel room and find out this was all a horrible nightmare, but it hurt too much to be anything but reality.

“Batter up, bird boy!” The Joker shouted, swinging the crowbar like he’d stepped up to the plate. “It’s time to test those ankles of yours!”

Was this really how it would end?

The crowbar rose up, and Jason closed his eyes. He didn’t want to watch this—

Suddenly there was an explosion of colorful light, searing through Jason’s eyelids. Strange, unearthly noises echoed through the warehouse, sending the henchmen scrambling back as they grabbed for their guns. Jason looked up in time to see the air warp and tear apart as a portal opened in the rafters.

Hope flared in his chest. Did Bruce find out he was missing and contact a magic user to get here faster maybe, or send someone ahead?

The portal glowed brighter, and there were abruptly six more people in the room, popping out of the portal one by one and twisting around to land on the floor in proper superhero fashion. None of them looked familiar, though for a split second Jason mistook the tall man in black leather and a trench coat for Bruce.

The Joker was gaping at the newcomers incredulously, clearly not happy about his spotlight being stolen. The henchmen were silent and shaken, looking to their boss for guidance that wasn’t coming yet. Sheila appeared to be hiding behind a crate.

“Well, this is awkward!” The smallest newcomer said loudly. Jason isn’t sure if was a concussion or not, but the speaker looked like...a talking red and blue  _ pig? _

“Sorry to crash your party,” the pig said. “We got a bit lost in the Multiverse!”

“We are so not in New York, are we?” The small one in black and red muttered.

“We might be, though these guys don’t look familiar,” the one in white said.

“And here Miggy was bragging that he calibrated this thing better,” the tall man in sweatpants groaned, rubbing his masked face.

Jason wanted to laugh, but he coughed instead, and abruptly all eyes were on him.

“Uh oh.” The black and red one said, visibly concerned that there was a beaten up teenager in a costume on the floor.

The tall one in black stepped towards the Joker, radiating danger. “Are we interrupting somethin’, fellas?”

“Are you...are you  _ interrupting?! _ You buffoons are ruining the setup for my masterpiece! My best joke yet!” The Joker screeched, flailing his arms and stomping his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“This doesn’t seem very humorous,” the spider robot said, and the clown cracked.

“Not funny, oh? I’ll show you not funny! Get them, boys!”

The newcomers sprang into action, bounding forwards to punch the henchmen or bouncing off the walls and firing some sort of...webbing? Some metas were really weird. But at least they were there to help.

Jason felt hands on him suddenly, and jerked up with a wobbly punch, expecting it to be a henchman using him as a meatshield. But nothing appeared to be there, at least not until the small meta in black and red flickered into view next to him.

“Sorry, dude. Just trying to get you out of the line of fire so SP//dr can fix you up. I’ll try to be gentle, ‘kay?”

Jason decided to go with his gut and trust him. “Okay. Just watch the ribs, please?”

“No problem, man.”

The meta gently moved Jason over near the door, where the robot had opened its hatch to reveal a Japanese girl around Jason’s age.

“Hello, nice to meet you!” She smiled brightly as she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a medkit. “Let’s get you patched up, that looks painful.”

The twenty-odd henchmen didn’t last long under the assault of the other four metas, quickly falling to a well placed hit or a webbing shot pinning them to the walls. Joker was running around trying to avoid getting caught, and Sheila got webbed to the stack of crates she was hiding behind when she tried to pull a gun on the meta in white.

“Shoot them, you idiots!” Joker screamed from across the room. The sound of a machine gun spitting bullets followed, but it cut off quickly with a loud thump as Sweatpants swung in to take out the henchmen. The sharp rat-a-tat of the bullets made Jason flinch reflexively, and his ribs twinged sharply enough he bit down a swear that would make Alfred look scandalized.

“This isn’t fair!” Joker wailed, trying to extract his pant leg from the goop. The pig-meta pinned his other leg and the hand with the crowbar, snickering as the clown snarled and flailed again. The clown tried to get him with the acid-spitting flower on his lapel, but it was dodged effortlessly.

“That wasn’t very nice!” The pig pulled a comically oversized mallet from thin air, and Joker went down with a noise like a dog toy being stepped on. “Now  _ that’s _ how you do funny!”

Sweatpants trotted over, bare feet stirring up dust and sand on the warehouse floor. “Hey newbie, wanna learn how to disarm a bomb?”

“There’s a bomb?!” The guy helping Jason sputtered.

“A small one, and the timer isn’t active yet. I’ll teach you how to take care of it, no problem.”

Jason couldn’t bring himself to be alarmed, not when he had a mouthful of candy and he was coming down from the adrenaline and terror of the past half-hour. The bomb got dismantled pretty quickly as promised, and Jason breathed a sigh of relief, the last bits of tension draining right out of him.

And with that, it was over. The clown was down for the count, the henches were contained, and the heroes were playfully bickering in the background as Jason was carried out of the building. And in the distance, he could see Bruce’s motorcycle, engine roaring loudly through the night as his father tore through the distance between them.

Jason fell asleep in his dad’s arms right after his rescuers left through another portal, and all was right in the world.

* * *

The time kept ticking down. 

Jason struggled against the chains, to no effect. They cut into his skin, but the pain was barely noticeable compared to the broken bones and the dark bruises covering his skin.

The Joker grinned manically, perched on top of a crate as he stared down at Jason. Each time he spoke, he dug another cheeto out of the bag he held, crunching obnoxiously through his words.

An earlier smack of the crowbar to the side of Jason’s head ensured that he couldn’t actually hear much of what the bastard was saying. But he could still see it when the clown gesticulated wildly, throwing his hands wide. He patted the ticking bomb lovingly, smearing cheeto dust across it. 

Jason glowered at him, shouting out an insult that he couldn’t even hear.

The Joker glared. He tossed another cheeto into his mouth as he stood, picking up the crowbar and- 

And he froze. 

One of the Joker’s hands flew to his throat as he doubled over hacking. The crowbar clattered to the warehouse floor, and the Joker fell with it. As he collapsed, he reached up, trying to catch the edge of the crate… and catching the side of the bomb, instead.

His scream was loud enough that Jason could actually hear it. 

On the ground, the Joker was still hacking. One hand was curled in a deathgrip around several wires. 

Above him, the bomb had stopped counting down.

About two minutes passed before the Joker stopped struggling, going completely limp.

Jason sunk down into the chair, held up by his bindings as he settled in to wait.

Half an hour later, Bruce burst into the warehouse with the fury of a hurricane, only to lose all steam at seeing Jason tied up and the Joker dead on the ground.

“What happened?” he asked Jason.

Jason shrugged as much as he could with his arms tied behind his back. “He was monologing. Choked on a cheeto.”

Bruce stared at him incredulously.

“I know,” Jason said, answering the question that hadn’t been asked. “I didn’t expect it to be that anticlimactic either.”

* * *

Damian gaped at the words in front of him.

He had a big brother! His mama didn’t notice what was reading, in fact, she didn’t even know that he  _ could  _ read. But he could! Because he was a big boy. He was six years old and he was smart, just like mama told him every night. So he could do a lot of really impressive things.

And he could read that he had a big brother. He actually has two, which is really exciting on its own, but only one of them had someone called 'J. Kerr' asking for help in killing him, and Damian couldn’t let that happen. He had a big brother and he wasn’t going to lose him to mean Mr. Kerr.

"No!" he screamed, pulling the paper from his mama's desk. "No killing my big brother!"

"Damian!" his mama gasped, frowning. "Darling, you can  _ read? _ "

He nodded. "Yes. And I want a big brother." He held up the letter. "And this man is going to be  _ mean  _ to me, and take him away."

He put on his best grandfather face. "I demand my big brother to be rescued. And then I want him brought to me with a puppy that we'll play with.  _ Together. _ "

His mama blinked at him, and then smiled, bringing him close to her so she could deliver a kiss to the top of his forehead. "Habibi, you're so good." She sighed in sadness. "And he wants to break it." She held him close to her for a few moments, and Damian enjoyed his mama's arms. "You know, habibi, how would you feel about meeting your daddy?"

His eyes widened. "Daddy!" He really wanted to meet his daddy. He was a dangerous man who took the form of a bat and hunted down criminals that needed to be punished. He was everything that Damian wanted to be when was big.

"Yes, darling. Your father. We will go rescue your big brother, and then we'll bring you both to your daddy." 

Damian smiled. He couldn’t  _ wait. _

~*~ 

It was in Ethiopia. That's where the mean Mr. Kerr wanted to kill his big brother, and Damian was  _ not  _ going to allow that to happen. His mama held his hand as they walked through the crowded street, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time he'd been out in the real world, among people that aren't assassins, and it was really exciting.

He kept on wanting to get food and toys, but each time his mama said no, reminding him that they were on a mission, and he couldn’t get distracted. She was right, so he had to ignore the really good smelling food and all the fun looking toys and the boy that's taking pictures of everything.

Even though his face was really red because he was really pale and he hadn’t put on any sunscreen.

And he gasped when he saw them, running over to his mama.

"Talia?" he asks. "Talia al-Ghul?"

His mama tensed, and clutches Damian close to her. "Yes?" she barked, narrowing her eyes. Damian tried to copy her.  _ No one  _ looked as scary as his mama.

The boy took a deep breath. "My name is Tim. Tim Drake."

"And that means what to me?" his mother asked, raising an eyebrow, and looking down at Tim. It was  _ really  _ impressive.

Tim bit his lip, and then started talking, his words all rushing together. "I know that Bruce Wayne is Batman and I know that the Joker is planning on killing Jason Todd tonight because he sent a letter to my parents asking them for help, you know archaeological connections, but they didn't get it cause they were on a dig and besides, I don't think they're  _ that  _ evil, so I just came here, but I really wasn't sure what to do because I didn't plan that far ahead, so I'm really glad you're here. Because you and my mom used to date, right? I saw you in her college pictures? And I've seen you on rooftops with Bruce Wayne. So it just . . . makes sense?" Tim blinked. "Am I reading this right?"

His mama blinked, her face circling through a lot of emotions before it settled on a soft smile. "Janet should never have been a mother, but of course she would produce someone as smart as you." She leaned down, still keeping Damian in her arms. "Don't we have a mighty set of coincidences here?" She held her hand out to Tim. "Come on, little one. Let us save Robin together." Tim noded and gripped her hand, smiling as she pulled him close to her. "But first, we're going to get you some sunscreen."

~*~ 

His mama was slathering sunscreen on Tim's face, and she was frowning as Tim told her stories about  _ his  _ mama and daddy. She ‘tsked’ at something he said, even though Damian didn’t understand. Tim was able to cook and have his  _ entire  _ house to himself, and that sounded amazing! Damian would have loved to do that, but he wasn’t not a big boy like Tim. At one point, his mama sighed and said, "Janet, what happened?" as she brushed hair away from Tim's face. She asked a couple more questions before Tim stopped talking, and eventually she said, "Little one, how would you feel about me figuring out ways for you to live with Bruce?"

Tim bit his lips, and shook his head. "He won't want me. He has Dick and Jason. He wouldn't want another son." His eyes flicked to Damian. "At least, not  _ me  _ as another son." He reached over to ruffle Damian's hair with a smile. "He won't be able to let  _ you _ go."

His mama smiled at Damian. "That's what I hope." She turned to Tim. "But there are many reasons that I care about Bruce. And one of them is how big his heart is. He will be able to support more than one new child to a family."

Tim shrugged. "I don't think it matters."

Damian narrowed his eyes.

He was going to take care of this, and he was going to have  _ three  _ big brothers. Just wait.

~*~ 

They headed out in the night. Tim was really excited that he looked like a ninja, though Damian really didn’t understand why. Ninjas were just there to order around, and if Damian was a prince, then that meant that as his soon to be brother, Tim was  _ also  _ a prince.

He was going to have to work on that. Tim didn’t seem to realize how awesome he was, which was kind of silly since he’d figured out how to get to Ethiopia on his own. But his mama always said that even the smartest people in the world have blindspots, so Damian guessed that that was Tim's.

His mama instructed them to be quiet, and said that if she gave the words, Tim needed to take Damian and  _ run.  _ He would have been more upset about being treated like a baby if he hadn’t been given his very first sharp katana. His mama said that he could only take it out for emergencies, but it didn't matter. Damian  _ had  _ it. He couldn't help but laugh with joy.

(Though for some reason, Tim looked scared.)

Tim held his hand as they left the city, his mama and Tim looking over something as they got farther and farther away, until his mama stopped the car and they got out. Tim grabbed his hand, and Damian squeezed it tightly. He felt scared after all, and he was the son of Batman and the grandson of the Demon and he was his  _ mama's  _ boy. If  _ he _ was scared, then he could only imagine how Tim felt. So he made sure to keep a tight grasp on his hand.

Tim smiled down at him, and Damian squeezed it tighter.

They followed his mama, being just as quiet as she was, until they got to the warehouse, and Damian realized that he very deeply did not like the loud man with the green hair. He was too loud and too mean, and he was taunting his big brother Jason and some blonde woman that he had tied up.

Damian had no idea what he was going to do, but his mama knew  _ just  _ what to do. She lept into action, taking down the green-haired man (who must be Mr. Kerr) and all his henchmen. Damian just held Tim's hand even tighter, doing his best to be the bravest boy that he could possibly be so that Tim wouldn’t be scared.

And Tim must have been really scared.

The fight was over before it really began, leaving all the pathetic men lying in a big circle. They weren’t even moaning because his mama was so awesome in taking them down. She was ignoring the woman and the boy while she pressed some buttons on a weird box, but then as soon as she did that, she called out for them to come out into the open as she looked over the boy.

Damian  _ ran  _ out, but he keept his hand firmly locked in Tim's as he ran over to the boy that must be Jason.

"Are you my big brother?" came out of his mouth in one breathless stream, and all the boy did was look up at him in confusion, his face a mess of bruises and blood.

"Wha-?" he whispered, and Tim interrupted. "He's Bruce Wayne's biological son, and he's the one who helped rescue you."

Jason's brow furrowed. "He's such a baby though. A baby bat." He laughed, and then held his ribs. "Ow."

His mama shushed him. "Hush, small one. You're hurting."

"No shit," Jason whispered.

"We'll get home to your father," she told him. "And he will be so glad to see you alive."

"He's coming," Jason whispered. "He would never leave me."

As if on cue, they heard a rumble, and they all looked up, his mama immediately moving in front of them. They waited, listening for  _ something,  _ and then they saw it.

Him.

Batman.

"Daddy!"

Damian tore his grip out of Tim's hand and ran up to his father, who caught him on instinct. He held Damian at arm's length, looked at his mama, looked up at Damian, and then Damian could even see through the cowl, he turned really pale.

"You should-” Jason couged behind him. “Should have given  _ yourself _ the condom talk."

Damian reached his arms out to hug his father, and luckily, his daddy held him close as he ran to Jason.

"Jaylad, you're okay?"

Jason shook his head. "I got a crowbar to the ribs. I'm not okay."

His daddy cursed. "Of course. We need to get you to a hospital." He looked at Damian. "I'm going to hand you back to your mother now." He saw Tim. "And you are. . . ?" He looked towards his mama.

"Tim  _ Drake _ ," his mama replied. "But his is a longer story." She looked down at Jason. "First? We must take care of this one.”

* * *

The Joker was long gone. 

Somehow, the warehouse seemed both bigger and smaller without him there. Bigger, because his presence wasn’t sucking up all the oxygen anymore. Smaller, because in his place, was the bomb. 

He’d left it right in front of Jason’s face so that he could see each second tick away. Even if he knew how to deactivate it, there was no way that he’d free himself in time. Tied up as he was, the best he could do was wiggle around in the pool of his own blood. 

He didn’t want to die like this. After everything… 

Time and time again, the world had tried to beat him down. Tried to make him feel helpless, even as Jason had fought back, clawing his way towards even a shred of control over his circumstances.

Robin had been more than a shred of control. It had been _everything_.

But just like Murphy’s Law or some shit, the moment he had begun to finally feel _secure_ , his world came crashing down around him.

And now he was going to die here. Cold and alone. Tied up. Helpless.

Jason watched the timer until he had to force his eyes closed, fighting back tears.

Despite everything, he hoped he’d made Bruce proud. Even for a moment.

Twenty seconds became ten, then five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Footsteps on the floor of the warehouse. The sound of the bomb powering down with just a second to spare. 

Jason cracked an eye open just in time to see Bruce fall to his knees next to him. 

“Jason…” The voice modulator wasn’t on. He sounded nearly broken.

This time, the tears Jason was holding back were too much. “You came,” he said, half cut off by a sob. “You really came.”

“Always,” Bruce said. 

Distantly, Jason noticed that now they were _both_ crying. 

Bruce’s cape swept out and over Jason as he scooped him up in his arms.

“I’m here,” he said, hugging him tightly. “I’m here.”

Jason buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder. The kevlar smelled of sweat and smoke. Not the best combination, but it reminded him of Gotham. Of home.

A home that Jason would live to see again, because against all hope, Bruce had gotten there just in time.

* * *

By the time the screen finally faded to black, Jason couldn’t have said how long he’d been watching. At some point he’d sunk down to the floor, sitting hunched in on himself as he saw his _other_ selves somehow… _not_ die. 

He wants to scream. Or to cry. Maybe both.

Over by the Batcomputer, Bruce sits against the wall. His arms are crossed, and he won’t meet Jason’s eyes. He looks strangely small.

“... Why did you show me this?” Jason asked, barely above a whisper. “Don’t tell me that you think it’ll make me feel better seeing all the ways that I _didn’t_ die.”

“No,” Bruce said, too quickly. “That’s not… that’s not it.”

“Then what _is_ it?” Jason asked, scowling.

Bruce didn’t respond for a long time. 

Jason’s heart tripped over itself, beating double-time as it tried to jump out of his throat. If he wasn’t careful, it felt as if he might vomit the thing up.

“I…” Bruce trailed off. “I wanted you to see it, because I thought it could help you. Like it helped me.”

“What do you mean?”

Finally, Bruce looked at him. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed even more pronounced.

“After you… after you died, I was barely holding on. I wasn’t eating or sleeping. Just working. The League got worried, but I wouldn’t listen to them when they tried to convince me to take care of myself. So they built… I’m not really sure what it was. I told myself that I’d ask Vic for the details, but I never got around to it. What I do know is that it was some sort of machine that could peer into alternate realities, all of them focused on that particular moment in time. On you, when you were in that warehouse.”

“I still don’t see what the fucking point of this is.”

Bruce looked at him with a pained expression. “I couldn’t live with knowing how I failed you,” he said. “I had to know that somewhere, _somehow_ you were saved. That you weren’t doomed from the second you _met_ me…”

Was… was Bruce fucking _crying?_

Jason stumbled to his feet. His legs were so numb from sitting that he all but collapsed next to where Bruce was sitting.

“Jesus christ, Bruce…” he muttered, putting an awkward hand on Bruce’s back. 

Never mind that Jason could also feel _his_ eyes tearing up. 

Jason wasn’t sure how long they sat there. Of course, there were no windows to use to gauge the light, and he found himself unable to turn around to check the time on the Batcomputer.

But he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he would have thought. Sitting there with Bruce, the air between them was still thick with tension and unspoken regrets, but also with something lighter. 

It had been long enough since the last time he’d felt something like it that Jason couldn’t put a label on it. But when Alfred eventually came down and asked Jason to stay for dinner, he found himself saying yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone who contributed to putting this together for njw! And an extra huge thank you to Chibi for pulling double duty and beta-reading as well as writing!


End file.
